


Child in Time

by amandroid



Category: Doom (Video Games), Game Grumps, Markiplier-fandom
Genre: Demonic Possession, Doom AU, Gore, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Satanic imagery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-07-22 16:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7446139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandroid/pseuds/amandroid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world that has moved ahead without him, Dan is one the few original Doom Marines resurrected by the UAC, tasked with bringing back a rogue Marine and also being thrust back into a familiar nightmare he can't wake up from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Patient

**Author's Note:**

> Even though the Game Grumps playthrough appears to be put on indefinite hiatus, I found it interesting the way Dan and Mark's separate playthroughs of "Doom", how their play styles differed and talking to KattyWolfShark, came this Doom!AU.  
> It's a bit of a departure from the stuff I usually write, being dark and horror but hopefully somebody out there likes it. Also I just want to get the first chapter done and then do some more research on weapons and that sort of thing to give it more realism, if that makes sense.

A pulse. A disembodied murmur.

 

“...alive…can’t be…”

 

He tries to speak, open his eyes but all he can see is the dim glow behind his eyelids. A light shining in his face. Floating in a vacuum, numb to everything.

 

Gradually, life creeps back into his muscles. Hands, feet. His heart beats, sluggish and weak but there.

 

“We found another one, intact. Truly, we have been blessed.”

 

The voices wash over him and like a clumsy baby, he tries to catch hold of the words, grubby hands groping at a mobile hovering just above his head but the words seem to come from everywhere and nowhere.

 

The voice (or voices) seem to ebb and then finally fade away completely. He tries to call out to them, move, but nothing. His body is tethered, his eyelids too heavy to open, his throat locked tight. 

 

But he’s alive...somehow. He finds that, the word or the concept itself, comforting somehow, as sleep overtakes him again.

 

_Sleep? Have I been...sleeping? How long have I been sleeping?_

 

He doesn’t know how long the sleep lasts but at last, he is able to open his eyes.

 

The room is unfamiliar, a storage room of some kind. Metal walls, grating, air ducts...red. Something wet catches the weak, soft light, glistening like...like…

 

He looks down, forcing himself to focus on his body, the leather cuffs binding his wrists and ankles to a long, flat table. 

 

He gives a weak tug, just to test the bonds,  but they're firmly fastening him to the table. He looks down, trying to examine his surroundings better but his vision is swimming, blurry.

 

Ahead of him is a doorway and an icy, sharp fear spikes through him as he hears the clatter of nails and followed by wet feral hissing.

 

That sound. He's heard that sound before.

 

Images rush into his mind.

 

_Pull the trigger! Now! Do it!_

 

Open, snarling mouths, claws scrambling, lidless eyes wide with hate and hunger.

 

His breath catches as he tries to pull on the cuffs, his muscles crying out with ache.

 

 _Not this. Not this again_ , his brain screams at him. _Have to do something. Have to get away._

 

His memory is faint but that sound, what it signals is clear and vivid, scarily so, as the memory spirals into more, more horror, more screaming, more blood, more death.

 

With a surge of adrenaline, he pulls hard on the cuffs binding his wrists until they give away, and he sets to work on the cuffs on his ankles before sliding off the table.

 

His knees almost buckle once he's on solid ground but he fights back the urge to crumble to the ground, gritting his teeth.

 

He has his back turned for an instant before something leaps at him, gnashing its teeth in his face. He cries out and roughly shoves it away, stumbling backwards.

 

On the ground, his eyes rest on something else familiar.

 

Gun.

 

The thing makes another leap at him but he dodges, somehow, and he makes a mad grab for it. His fingers curl around the stock and he feels a click in his mind. Something once lost sliding into place. This feels familiar. Right. 

 

He points the pistol and fires, the bullets hitting the thing with a pulse of electricity. It screams and leaps at him but he hastily backs away in a corner, squeezing the trigger until it hits the far wall with a wet noise, slumping over bonelessly.

 

Now the room is silent, he is aware of his breathing, hard and loud and panicked. His arms tremble and he lowers the pistol.

 

He feels something tickle his face and jumps, leaping backwards when he realizes with annoyance it's only his own hair, falling over his face. He huffs and brushes it aside only for it to fall into his face again.

 

Only too when the danger has died down he realizes he is completely naked. He searches his memory for the reason why or even any clues for where he is and what is happening but nothing. It's all a blur. Not even a blur. A void. An absence.

 

_Okay, breathe...try to calm down. Come up with a plan._

 

Still gripping the pistol with sweaty hands ("Can't let it go...can't...", his mind insists resolutely), he gingerly side-steps the table (stone with a man-shaped hollow inside. Was he asleep in that?) and slowly exits the room.

 

Ahead, resting against the wall is an array of armor, stubs of wax candles laid underneath it like a holy relic.

 

_I know this. I recognize this._

 

Cautiously he reaches out and touches it and almost recoils his hand as harsh images flood his mind, like the searing heat of a brand but directly on his eyes and straight into his brain.

 

Spidery writing and symbols. Circles and sigils. Goat-headed monsters. Demons. Tall mountains of fire, fountains, rivers, OCEANS of blood, screaming, insistent evil whispers, all of them flash by in an instant but then quickly subside, as if they were never there.

 

He doubles over, nausea rising up and sitting in the back of his throat.

 

_I remember..._

 

_My name..._

 

"Dan..." he murmurs to himself, out of sorts and unsure.

 

Saying it has the same feeling as picking up the gun. It feels...right.

 

It must have been something like muscle memory as he picked up the various bits of armor, his fingers running over the pitted marks as he puts them on. Not only putting them on but knowing, remembering which pieces came first and how to adjust and fasten them properly.

 

_How do I know this?_

 

_Because I've worn this before._

 

Putting on the breastplate, his breathing finally began to ease, the feeling of safety, of protection, as the armor surrounded him as he slid the pistol into its holster at his waist.  

 

When it came time to finally put the helmet on, his hair proved difficult to stuff inside, obscuring the visor in the front or bunching around the sides. 

 

"Oh, for fuck's..." he huffs, brushing it back from his face with frustration.

 

Of all the things to deal with, now he had to find something to tie his hair back.

 

He looks around the room. Except the space where his armor was hanging and the candles laid out underneath, it was completely bare but he could see doorways to rooms on either side.

 

Already walking in the armor, he feels stronger, more sure of his movements, strength flowing back into his body.

 

The room on the left was some kind of locker room/bathroom and passing by a mirror, he almost jumps out of his skin as he mistook the movement for something else but stopped to examine himself, curiously.

 

He hadn't remembered the last time he had looked at himself. Fingering one of his locks of hair, he frowned. He didn't know his hair had gotten so long and out of control, growing down to his shoulders in a tangle of dark brown curls, frowning in alarm at how hollow his face looked with overgrown black and gray stubble peppering his cheeks.

 

How long had he been sleeping, if that was even he had been doing? He tries to think to the last thing he could remember before he woke up and found he couldn't remember anything concrete: what he had been doing or where he had been. Just flashes of things that...couldn't possibly be real.

 

He sighed and shook his head. One of these lockers had to have something like a hair tie or god forbid, a ribbon. At this point, he couldn't afford to be picky and the place he was in, wherever it was, appeared to be abandoned so it didn't matter.

 

He stopped in front of one at random and intended to give it a tap, maybe pull it open by the latch but the strength his armor gave him made his fist surge forward sharply, the door crumbling inward with a deafening crunch of metal.

 

"Oh...shit..." he mutters under his breath before thinking ‘Oh well’, grabbing the door and wrenching it off its hinges. Surely whoever’s locker this was, they weren’t here anymore and probably wouldn’t mind.

 

Luckily he finds what he’s looking for, a collection of loose black hair ties as well as a zippered case with a disposable razor and a small can of shaving cream so he takes a rare moment to wrestle his mane of hair into a bun and carefully shave away the thorny stubble.

 

‘This may be the only time where I’ll be alone...where I’ll be safe,’ he thinks as he gets lost in the routine of mowing through the troublesome whiskers, soothed by the regular, slow movement.

 

Only knowing that he’s safe in his own mind, safe in his own thoughts, can the words ring clear: I’m scared.

 

His breathing rises in a panic and he quickly slows to calm it.

 

He rinses his face, drying it with his hands before fitting the helmet onto his head.

 

The retinal scan calibrates as he looks through the visor.

 

_ >indentifying... _

 

Text scrolls down quickly before giving a benign ping.

 

_ >d. avidan, marine _

_rank: lieutenant_

_status: unknown_

 

He can't help but frown with disappointment. That's all? That's all he has to go on? Where was he now? What was going on?

 

The visor finishes calibrating, the orange reticle pointing to the far door, to the left of where his armor was hung. Waiting for him. 

 

He walks over and pushes the door lock and the metal doors part. A screen lights and chimes.

 

"Good morning, Marine. I trust you slept well?"

 

Dan frowns again as he shuffled further inside the room, peering at the screen.

 

"I'm sure you're full of questions so I'll make this brief."

 

The screen flickers and it shows security video feed of what looks to be a laboratory of some kind. Fear closes around his throat as he sees more of the... _things_ that attacked him and something else.

 

Another Marine dashing past them, ducking and dodging and spraying them with bullets before grabbing one by the arm and kicking it hard in the chest, sending it flying while its arm tears free from the socket. As blood spurts out in a messy fountain, the Marine throws the arm aside and disappears through an automatic door without so much as a second glance. 

 

_Is that...me?_

 

The voice comes back on. "We at the UAC found something extraordinary: a man encased in stone. The Doom Slayer, bane to all the denizens of hell itself. We enlisted his help in our plan but he soon went...rogue." The voice gives a laugh that sends a chill up and down Dan's spine, cold and cruel.  "Imagine our surprise when he find another... _you_. We want you to...retrieve him."

 

Dan’s mouth opens and closes, remembering the message was probably pre-recorded and couldn’t answer him.

 

The security footage continues to loop and Dan can’t help stare at it, in fascination and in horror. Part of him can with some reservations admire the efficiency but the brutality of it ties his stomach in thick knots. 

 

_I’m not sure sure of I’m more of afraid of those things...or him._

 


	2. The Red Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan finds the Doom Slayer...

Tracking down the rogue Doom Slayer proved a lot easier than Dan had anticipated. In some cases, it was as easy as following the blood and there was a lot to follow. Whatever the UAC facility looked like before all this had happened, it was hard to get a sense of. So many of the walls were splattered with viscera and the lifeless bodies he could find were so twisted and mangled, it was hard to tell if they had once been human or demon. Still, whatever else the Doom Slayer did as he passed through, he had been able to reset the automated doors and restarted the power to the rooms, which as he checked, had been offline since the invasion had started.

 

That was one thing he couldn't wrap his mind around, once he was able to check the active computer terminals. This wasn't an accident: this was an engineered invasion from Hell by the UAC.

 

For a while, he received no new messages from the man from before, Dr. Samuel Hayden, so he was forced to not think about it, to put it out of his mind for the time being and sake of his own sanity. That was something was drilled into him as a scared, knocked-kneed Marine: just focus on the mission. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling there was some part that the man was leaving out, some crucial bit of information. Why did the Doom Slayer go rogue, for example? What mission had the Doom Slayer deviated from, enough that Dan was called in to make things right?

 

For now, his only mission was to find the Doom Slayer. Then what? Dr. Samuel Hayden was unclear on what exactly to do once he'd found him. Kill him? Persuade him? Following in the Doom Slayer's footsteps, he could see exactly what he was capable of from mess he left and if that wasn't clear enough, he could watch the security feed from the cameras still intact as the Doom Slayer mowed through wave after wave of enemies, reducing their bodies to red mush.

 

The first few times, he was horrified, sickened to the point of muteness and he had to turn away, fighting against the tide of nausea rolling in his stomach. Then a feeling slid into place, a feeling he realized he'd had before: numbness. After going from room to room, seeing the mutilated bodies, walking through the gummed-up patches of blood, checking the security feed and seeing first-hand what had happened possibly hours before at the ruthless hands of the Doom Slayer...he found himself getting used to it, even being mildly unfazed by the sight of it all.

 

Despite that, he couldn't let his guard down or relax, even for a second. Even though the rooms were empty, he couldn’t shake the feeling there might be stragglers that the Doom Slayer might have missed.  He was thankful nobody around meant nobody could see him leaping at shadows, pointing his pistol at nothing and his shamefully loud wheezes of panic.

 

With the time alone as he could feel himself getting nearer and nearer, his mind drifted to what would happen once he got to the Doom Slayer. What would his reaction be? His throat constricted in fear at the thought that the Doom Slayer had gone completely rogue and might kill him, probably without a second's hesitation. He didn't think that maybe Samuel Hayden had lied. He was helpless as a child and his mind clung to what he said as the truth because if not, what did he have then? He was stuck in a seemingly abandoned base with no memories, at best just pieces of memories he was slowly unraveling. Not many, just the realization that he had an identity, a life, before all this however long ago. He couldn't help feeling a pang of sadness at the thought that some of these mangled corpses, at least the more humanoid ones, had been living like him at one point. Everything that these people were was just so much gelatinous gook on the floor or hanging and dripping from the walls. Would this be him at some point if he wasn’t careful?

 

There was one silver lining: even if he couldn't remember very much, his body remembered, old habits maneuvering his body forward while his mind struggled to keep up, unearthing tiny scraps of memories or bits of comfort lying long submerged in his brain. At times to break up the monotony of moving through the empty complex or to keep him tethered to the present and not go flying into another red nightmare, under his breath he'd murmur the words to a song. He didn't yet remember where it was from. For all he knew, it could be a lullaby but it soothed him, encasing him in a bubble of rare warmth.

 

_When the last eagle flies_

_over the last crumbling mountain_

_and the last lion roars_

_at the last dusty fountain_

_in the shadow of the forest_

_though she may be old and worn_

_they will stare unbelieving at the last unicorn_

_When the first breath of winter_

_through the flowers is icing_

_and you look to the north_

_and a pale moon is rising_

_and it seems like all is dying_

_and would leave the world to mourn_

_in the distance hear the laughter_

_of the last unicorn_

 

Even just murmuring the refrain to himself "I'm alive", helped. Whatever science or black magic had brought him here, now...he was alive. He couldn't take that fact for granted.

 

Slowly but surely he could feel himself closing the gap between him and his goal: the Doom Slayer. The time-stamps on the security footage were getting more and more recent according to the internal clock in his Praetor Suit.  Involuntarily, the tension in his shoulders eased as he approached the airlock leading outside the building. The path the rogue Doom Slayer was guiding him was towards the satellite array and checking the terminal, it was still off-line. Here it was. He was just outside.

 

He reached out a hand to carefully push the release to the door but he had still yet to figure out how to deal with the Praetor suit's spurts of strength. What was supposed to be a simple motion of sliding one fingertip across the panel to open the airlock ended up tearing the clear panel loose from it place fixed to the door, hitting the ground with with a clatter.

 

Dan rolled his eyes in annoyance but mercifully the doors parted as he became buffeted by harsh winds. The visor adjusted to the brightness of the outside, the ruddy sun-baked landscape of Mars.

 

If he was tense in the close tunnels of the UAC facility, being out in the open made things ten times worse. With halting steps, he scanned in every direction, up, down, around, for anything resembling movement as he made his way from one rocky outcropping or crate of cargo to the next place of safety, his heart threatening to beat itself right out his chest.

 

"I'm alive...I'm alive..." he chanted to himself, the reticle in his jumping as his eyes darted over the hunched over dunes of rust-red sand collecting around the outside of the facility, searching as icy panic clawed at his throat.

 

From behind him, he thought he heard a noise as he hugged edges of the outside of the building, being careful not to venture too far from cover. Then he heard a definite click, his heart stopping dead as the sound seemed to echo in his brain, numbing him to his core. 

 

"DON'T. MOVE."

 

Every nerve in his body froze in an instant once he heard it, a dark deep voice wrapping around him from all sides, strangling him with a tightly gloved fist.

 

He felt his head tilt backwards at a slight angle like a rabbit caught in a snare, a whimper of fear escaping his lips.

 

His pulse beat frantic as he heard heavy boots shifting the sand behind him, too locked to move a muscle.

 

_Please make it quick. Don’t make me suffer. Please..._

 

“Who are you?”

 

“H-huh?”

 

A cry of alarm escaped his lips as the Doom Slayer moved closer.

 

“You heard me! I’ve been following you since you got out of the building! You’re almost ten feet from a Gore Nest, you dumb scrub!”

 

_Scrub?_

 

“Uh...Avi- I mean...D-Daniel. Dan...for short.” He sneered at himself. Why did he need to give the Doom Slayer his first name? Then again, he might be the only living human here. The thought of that left him incredibly sad.

 

“A-and you?”

 

The Doom Slayer hesitated, as if taken aback and then seemed to sigh. “...Mark.”

 

He made a sudden grab at Dan’s arm, making him shout and then drop to the ground, shaking.

 

“What the-?!” Mark let go as Dan tried to curl himself into a protective ball, hard to do in the unwieldy armor but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try as the drill sergeant in his brain snarled at him for being a coward. He didn’t care.

 

He just didn’t want to die.

 

“Don’t kill me, please! I’m just following orders! _P-please_ …”

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?! I’m not going to kill you! You’re not the enemy, you big bubble-blowing BABY!”

 

Mark tried to pull Dan off the ground as Dan fought breath into his lungs before he heard a low growling, making him cry out and drop to the ground again, kicking up a cloud of fine red dust.

 

“Ge-get the fuck up!” Mark snarled at him with growing exasperation, stooping to try and pick him by the arm again as Dan’s body went limp, his eyes gone wide and staring as the source of the growling, an imp, crept in view. Then another. Glaring right at him with glowing, monstrous eyes. 

 

“F-f-f-fuuuuuck!” Dan’s arms flailed and windmilled as he tried to pull himself from Mark’s grip, which he hastily let go off, making him drop to his knees and then take off running in the opposite direction.

 

“HEY! Where the hell are you going?!

 

Dan didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. The only thing he could bring himself to focus on was finding a place to hide as his legs pumped furiously, occasionally losing his footing on the loose, shifting sand.

 

He could make out Mark’s yelling getting fainter and fainter, probably telling him to come back, along with the muffled blasts of ammo hitting flesh and the demonic screeches of anger and pain. His anxious brain told him should stay and fight, defend himself, help his fellow Marine but he couldn’t bring himself to any of that and he hated himself for it, hated how he wanted to save himself like a coward. He thought he’d be prepared after seeing room after room of those things, torn apart and dead, but seeing one living, far away but still close enough to see him and register his presence sends his blood running ice cold.

 

He made a dash for a hollow cave, flattening himself against the rock wall, his heart trying to hammer its way out of his breastplate before he sinks down, ducking his head and hugging his knees to his chest, his teeth chattering as he rocks back and forth, trembling out of control and shaking tears out of his eyes, running in a messy path down his face and making him hiccup in addition to the mindless fearful babbling and his loud, panicked breathing. 

 

He isn't sure how long but eventually he calms down, enough to hear the crunch of approaching boots as Mark stopped a few feet away from him, his Praetor suit dripping with slick gore and breathing hard.

 

“Hey.”

 

Dan swallowed, blinking the tears out of his eyes. “Y-yeah?”

 

Mark sucked his teeth. “What…” He sighed, his voice gone oddly quiet and tender. “Are...are you going to be okay?”

 

 _Am I okay?_ , he wondered. He didn’t even know. Gradually, he unfolded himself, leaning his head back against the rock wall, staring at nothing. “...I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay…” he said in a dead mutter.

 

Mark scoffed and quickly strode towards him. “Tsk. Bro, don’t say scary shit like that.”

 

Dan halted the stab of apprehension of Mark trying to lift him to feet, realizing the reason he panicked so suddenly was just the idea of being touched by somebody else. What a stupid thing to be scared of, he thought.

 

As he got to his feet, he hung his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t…” he trailed off. He could give no real excuse for what he did, except that he was scared.

 

Mark said nothing for a few moments then Dan reeled as Mark punched him hard in the shoulder, letting out a short cry of pain as his knees buckled but he fought to stay upright, hissing under his breath.

 

“Don’t fucking let it happen again, _scrub,_ ” he spat, each word laced with hot venom, stinging Dan like tiny sharpened barbs as he rubbed his sore shoulder but the pain faded almost instantly.

 

Mark started walking away, muttering low but loud for him to hear “Beanpole motherfucker…” and a few other muttered curses before he stopped and shouted, “Hey! You coming or what?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“We have to realign the satellite array, dumbshit! Just…” he waved a hand dismissively as he shouldered his shotgun. “Cover me or something. You can do that much at least, right?”

 

Dan nodded, out of sorts. He wasn’t expecting to be working together with the Doom Slayer but hey, strength in numbers, right?  “Y-yeah, I can try-”

 

Mark turned on his heel and advanced suddenly towards him, poking his finger against the barrier of his visor, making him flinch. “I’m not giving you an OPTION, fuckface! You DO it or I won’t bother looking for you when go running away again!”

 

Dan narrowed his eyes, realizing too late Mark couldn’t see it how serious he was being from behind his visor. He understood what he did was cowardly thing to do, letting his fears get the best of him, but he didn't appreciate the attitude Mark was giving him. An odd thing to focus on but now that his head was more clear, he noticed that Mark was shorter than him and that along with his name calling rankled him more than it should have. 

 

Dan drew himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders as he looked down at Mark. He didn't have many advantages against Mark except height, which he realized that put him on par with a cobra puffing up and spreading its hood against a snarling mongoose. 

 

"Get out of my face... _runt_." His voice was clipped and forceful, as forceful as he could conjure with his throat raw. 

 

It was hard to tell for sure but Mark seemed to jolt and Dan couldn't help a cruel sense of satisfaction at eliciting that reaction. The mighty Doom Slayer, touchy about his height.  If he fancied himself a more petty person, he might have been tempted push harder but at the moment, he just wanted Mark to back off.

 

Mark scoffed and turned away after glaring at him for a few tense seconds. "Tch...just try not to get in my way, _bro_..."

 

Dan frowned as he started to follow Mark at a trot. The way Mark said 'bro' still sounded withering and sarcastic, but with some reservations, he preferred it to 'scrub' or 'fuckface', or even 'beanpole motherfucker'. It was a start, at least.

 

\---

Mark felt a skittering sensation across his temple and then a low voice snarled in his ear.

 

Runt _?! You going to take that from this...coward?!_

 

Mark scoffed, making sure his comm-link isn’t set to a wavelength Dan could hear him at. He hadn’t had that problem before but now he had to be extra careful. The last thing he wanted was to come off as crazy now that he had company.  “Whatever.”

 

His pulse jolted hard for an instant under his jaw, almost making him stop mid-stride but he muscled through and the sensation loosened then scuttled to the back of his head, coiled like a snake.

 

_You should kill him. At this point, he’s only going to slow you down…_

 

“Tch. You have a one-track mind, I swear. The satellite array isn’t too far from here. We’ll see if he’s worth hanging on to…”

 

The voice rumbled. _...Fine. I’ll let you handle this._ The voice took on a mocking cadence. _You are in control now, mighty Doom Slayer…_

 

Mark scowled. “Shut up, already. I’ll call you when I need you.”

 

_Mmm, you say that like I go anywhere but alright…_

 

The pressure on Mark’s brain faded and then disappeared but he knew it never actually left for good. That would be too easy.

 

When he was sure it had “gone” (or can’t hear him), he muttered under his breath. “Stupid Dark…” and braced himself for a feeling of retaliation (a shock, a pinch) but none came and he found himself relieved, for once. It was a false sense of security but he’d take it for now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *scare chord*
> 
> So I feel like I should explain that I before, I really haven't wanted to do anything (fics or art or whatever) involving Darkiplier if only because I was scared of doing something that deviated from the fanon idea of him/it. It's silly, I know but tbh, I haven't really been in a fandom or written stories involving dark themes before so it's all new to me. New and weird. 
> 
> Anyway, the idea to include Darkiplier I was hesitant to do at first but I found a way to work him into the story and it ends up fitting in with the tone and the setting, involving Hell and demons and possession and that kind of thing. I feel like I may have hampered myself and made more work for myself to include this aspect but at same time, it gives the whole idea more kick? Idk, we'll see. I hope you guys stick with it because if I decide in include half the stuff I brainstormed, shit is about to get WEIRD.


End file.
